


Arthur's Young Man

by kedgeree



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Established Relationship, Family, Fluff, M/M, Mother's Day, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 04:21:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6784984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kedgeree/pseuds/kedgeree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames accidentally meets Arthur's mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arthur's Young Man

New York smells like rain on pavement and surprisingly fresh and green, just like spring is meant to smell. Eames has a spring in his step, strolling past all the Greenwich Village denizens out enjoying the sunlight that's broken through the clouds. His eyes pick out every wallet or watch or purse that would be an easy target, just for practice, but he smiles to himself and keeps his hands in his own pockets.

Will Arthur be at home? Maybe still in those blue tartan pyjama bottoms? Maybe having a late lie-in, all alone in his big bed? How angry will Arthur be if Eames picks his locks? How angry will Arthur be in general that Eames is here a day early, without notice? Because a bit of anger would be okay. It's not like Eames _tries_ to rile Arthur. Really, he doesn't.  Not anymore. Not all that much. But he never could and never will deny how very good a bit of righteous indignation looks on Arthur, when his mouth gets all scowly-pouty and full and his eyes get dark and fierce. And if Arthur is angry with him for his inconsiderate rule-breaking, then Eames will just have to work very hard to make it up to him.

There are definitely certain circumstances under which Eames does not mind hard work. Not at all.

He sighs happily up at the lovely azure blue sky.

He's at the crosswalk when a lean line of grey suit on the other side of the street catches his eye, and he doesn't have to look twice to know his Arthur. It's casual-suit Arthur, not business-suit Arthur. Relaxed Arthur, with his hair soft and his chin scruffy—he's even wearing his glasses. And out of nowhere Eames's chest feels like spring is in full bloom inside it.

Then he notices Arthur isn't alone. Arthur's walking with a woman. She's shorter than he is, curvy, wearing a long, flowy, fringey vest sort of thing. Arthur puts his arm around her shoulders, gives her a little hug and his _fond_ smile.

There's a flash of raw _fear_ that Eames still gets sometimes, on the rare occasions when Arthur looks at anyone else with that sort of open affection. Arthur looks that way at Ariadne sometimes. Eames knows the jealousy is beneath him. Well, it's not beneath _him_ , but it's definitely beneath Arthur. Arthur is reserved, painfully so at times, but he's not capricious in his affections, and he's never deceptive. Still, Eames wishes he could make himself just a little bloody taller outside a dream so he could get a better look at Arthur's mysterious smile-deserving companion. He stands on his toes, frowning over the heads of the cluster of people waiting to cross the street in front of him.

When a cab nearly clips him, the driver takes the opportunity to demonstrate his mastery of both profanity and the application of a car horn, and there's no longer any need for Eames to do pre-encounter reconnaissance, because he's been spotted.

As soon as he sees the delighted, dimpled smile of recognition on Arthur's face, Eames knows he's a very silly man for having even the briefest moment of concern.

Then Arthur's brows draw down. He turns to speak to the woman with him and then looks back at Eames. And…ah, there are those fierce eyes Eames wanted to see.

They meet halfway, in front of a little bookstore called The Inchworm. There's a picture of a green worm wearing red wellies on its non-existent feet painted on the window.

"Darling!" Eames says brightly.

Arthur brushes Eames's arm with his fingertips in greeting, but he's also frowning. "What are you doing here? You're early."

"The job finished early, so I thought I'd surprise you." Eames gives Arthur his best puppy-dog eyes, combined with a soupçon of appreciative leer. "Surprise?"

Arthur's lips press together like he's struggling with his reaction. "I have plans today, Eames," he says carefully, and glances back over his shoulder at his companion, who is waiting where Arthur left her, watching them with interest.

Now Eames can see her a bit better. She's older than Eames had first assumed. There are strands of grey mixed into her shoulder-length dark hair. Her clothes are definitely on the Bohemian side of fashion, Eames notes with automatic approval, colorful and loose. There are laugh lines visible at the corners of her eyes, and just a hint of dimples that look—

Oh. Eames's self-satisfied impishness slips away as he realizes the line he's just crossed. This woman is Arthur's _family_. Family is a no-fly zone. Eames looks back at Arthur, wide-eyed with contrition, and another flash of fear rushes through him. Because Arthur reveals personal information slowly, every detail feels like a gift, but Eames knows he's not allowed to peek inside any of the meticulously-wrapped packages before they're presented.

Arthur just sighs. "My mother," he says in response to Eames's unvoiced question. He sounds resigned, but he's watching Eames's face keenly.

As if she's received some sort of signal, Arthur's mother brightens (and those are definitely Arthur's dimples) and starts walking toward them.

"Er," says Eames, eyes flashing to Arthur's for his cue. Should he pretend to be nothing more than an associate? What does Arthur's mum even think Arthur does for a living? Should he just _run_?

"Is this him?" Arthur's mum calls out, sounding excited.

Eames blinks. Him?

"This, actually," Arthur says drily, sweeping a hand toward Eames, "is the most annoying man I've ever known."

Arthur's mother looks up at Eames, and then back at Arthur's face, and then nods, satisfied, and actually _beams_. "Eames!" She holds out her hand. "I'm so pleased to meet you!"

Eames just stands there for a second, no doubt looking like he's having some sort of episode.

"Eames," Arthur says quietly. The tops of his ears have gone bright pink, and his eyes have gone wary. It's the same expression he had just before he cut the wire during the Sorensen job. The same expression he had the first time he invited Eames to stay the weekend at his Paris apartment.

Eames breaks out a wide, warm smile and takes Arthur's mum's hand in both of his. _Arthur's mum_. "I'm so pleased to meet you as well. I've heard…" He hesitates on the brink of some charmingly polite version of _so much about you_ , but this is Arthur's mother, and someday it might matter that he'd been as honest as he could with Arthur's mother from the very start. "Distressingly little about you."

She laughs, like the lines at her eyes suggest she will, and gives Eames's hand a reassuring little squeeze before releasing it. "That sounds like Arthur. He didn't bother telling me you'd be joining our Mother's Day brunch, either."

"Mother's Day?" Eames echoes, brow furrowing.

"Oh, that's right, it's different in England, isn't it? Which date do you celebrate over there?"

Eames doesn't like to talk about it. Ever. He's never talked about it with Arthur, even though he's aware Arthur's read his file and already knows the whole story. "I haven't kept track for a while," he answers, kindly, without any defensiveness. "Not since I was eleven." He feels Arthur's eyes on him.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Arthur's mother turns a remarkably Arthurian glare on her son. "I wasn't made aware of that information, either."

"Mom," Arthur says, "can we have a minute?"

Her frown clears. "Of course, sweetie. I'll just be—" She twitches her head to indicate a distance down the pavement, giving them both a knowing sort of smile.

As soon as his mother is out of hearing range, Arthur takes a deep breath.

So does Eames.

"Look, I know it's _family_ and that's more _real_ than you might—"

"I'm so sorry, darling, I had no idea I'd be intruding on your _family_ —"

Arthur frowns.

Eames blinks back.

"You don't have to come with us, obviously," Arthur says guardedly. "I can make an excuse."

"I won't if you don't want me to," Eames says, searching Arthur's face. It's perfectly composed. But his ears are still pink. And his forehead has a slight flush.

"Actually." Arthur looks away. Clears his throat. "I was planning to ask. This week. If you wanted to."

"If I wanted to…meet your mum?"

"The thing is. About my family." The _expression_ is back on Arthur's face. He's about to cut the wire. "We're open to new members. If that's. A thing. Discussing. You might be interested in."

"Oh," Eames breathes. In the bookshop window, the little green inchworm in its inexplicable red wellies is smiling at him, like it's known all along. "Oh, darling, just…wait here!"

He runs, because it really feels like he should. And because he is such a lucky man, he catches the walk signal and does not get struck by any angry taxis. He'd passed a place, just down this street, he remembers. Reds and pinks and yellows, sweet smells, spring blooming in his chest. He buys the biggest, most beautiful bouquet the shop has on display. The paper around it crinkles in his hand as he runs back to Arthur and his mum, who knows who Eames is, because Arthur told her, because Eames is Arthur's _him_.

Arthur's eyes get wide when he sees Eames. So do his mother's. "What's this, then?" she laughs.

Grinning wildly, Eames presses the flowers on her and says, "My application for membership."

 

***

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Callie4810!


End file.
